Or Forgotten
by GoldStarGrl
Summary: The much requested Detective's Daughter sequel! Five years after Ginny disappears from their lives, John stumbles across her once more, in the most unlikely of places. But, being her father's child, she's there for a reason. The games afoot, and every Holmes needs a Watson to help them win.
1. Chapter 1

**{A/N: The following will not make any sense unless you read it's predecessor, "The Detective's Daughter" which can be found back on my My Stories Page. I appreciate your cooperation in this matter.}**

* * *

"_Family means nobody gets left behind. Or forgotten."_

_-Chris Saunders_

* * *

Times Square was much larger then they were expecting.

The brochures and online reviews had marketed it as "A bigger, louder Picadilly Circus", but now, standing in the thick of it, John thought that was a bit of an understatement.

Everywhere he turned there was shouting, horns blaring, signs glowing and flashing, and people shoving. It was making John's head pound.

"I think this might be a bit much for Martha." Molly was standing right next to her husband, but had to shout to be heard. He looked down just in time to see his two year old daughter screw up her face and start sobbing, chiming into the already deafening orchestra surrounding them.

John knelt down and picked her up, bouncing her up and down.

"Shhh, Shhh, it's alright love, it's alright." He said, though he felt a bit like crying too.

Their flight had been a nightmare of delays with an emergency stopover in Greenland, and taking a walk to "stretch their legs" after finally getting to the hotel had just made everyone more miserable.

Martha wailed louder. Molly sighed and took her out of John's hands, balancing her on her hip.

"She's jet-lagged, I need somewhere quiet to bring her to take a nap."

John ran a hand through his hair, feeling pretty exhausted himself.

"Alright, how about you take her back to the room, and I'll bring us back some lunch from that takeout place you read about."

"Are you sure you know where you're going?" she asked.

"I'm sure I can manage." He smiled. "See you for fish and chips in twenty minutes?"

"Sounds like a plan." Molly said, pecking him quickly on the lips. "Oh, and they're called 'fries' over here, my love."

John made a face, and his wife and daughter were quickly swallowed by the crowd. He took a deep breath and set off down 46th Street.

Despite what he told Molly, it only took a minute before he too, was lost. He was always rubbish in new cities. As he turned another corner, going down yet another dark ally, his phone buzzed in his pocket, making him jump.

_Are you lost yet? -SH_

John rolled his eyes and deleted the message. Sherlock had stayed on Baker Street to finish up some of the work for a case they'd been investigating that week. He'd found it appalling that John still planned on going to America, saying that a murder-murder-suicide-murder was much more interesting than New York, and Martha wasn't even old enough to remember taking a holiday.

But John had gone off anyway. And as some form of passive-aggressive revenge, Sherlock had taken to deducing what John was up to and sending him annoying texts commenting on it.

_Molly and the child have already given up, haven't they?_

John felt his annoyance grow, as well as his wariness, as he turned down a back street, already tired and hungry and increasingly lost. Yet the phone continued to buzz.

_You wouldn't get lost if you were in London_.

"For God's sake, shut up!" John snapped, whipping his phone at the ground.

It bounced a few feet away and stopped, unbroken. John looked around, feeling his ears go slightly red. The crowds had thinned considerably since he got away from Times Square, but there were still a few dozen people around to give him odd looks.

Taking a deep breath, John walked over and picked up his phone, Sherlock's judgmental eyes still staring at him on his left.

Wait a minute.

John slowly turned and looked at the wall next to him. It was covered with a large advertisement for Ovlin Matthews, a women's designer clothes line.

The advert was a big, glossy square with a long, willowy figure stretched across it's length, wearing a skimpy blue dress. Her head was tilted towards the camera-she seemed to be looking out onto the street. She had dark curly hair and skin pale as death itself. And her eyes were bright and silver. They looked as though they were staring straight through you.

John had only known of two people on earth who had eyes like that.

One of them was sending him bitchy texts from a flat halfway around the world.

The other...

"Ginny?"


	2. Chapter 2

_It couldn't be. It just **couldn't**_.

John stared, stunned at the billboard for about thirty seconds, getting jostled back and forth by impatient New Yorkers. Then a particularly hard shove brought him back to earth. Tearing his eyes away from the advert, he forced himself to start walking back the way he came.

"I'm am losing my mind." He told himself firmly. "The jet lag and Sherlock bugging me, that's what made me see it. There is no way that's Ginny. No way. Just forget about it. Keep walking, go back to Molly and Martha. Go."

He stopped in his tracks and turned around.

He hadn't thought about Ginny in years. The aftermath of her drowning was messy and public, but after the media lost interest, Sherlock never brought up his daughter again, so John thought it best to follow his lead and drop it.

_But no one ever found her body_. A thought persisted in the back of his mind. _Sherlock forced Lestrade to comb the river for an extra week and a half and they never found anything_.

John's heart was hammering very hard. Could it be possible Ginny was really so much like her father that she'd pulled a disappearing act on the entire Scotland Yard?

He got closer to the wall for a better look.

The picture looked very shiny and new. There was more writing under Ginn-under the _girl's_ face that John hasn't noticed before. Carefully stepping out of the flow of traffic, he leaned in for a better look.

**Ovlin Matthews  
The Dare Line  
Premiering June 17th, 4:00 PM  
West 34th and 5th**

John's breath hitched in his throat. June 17th. That was _today_.

_You're on holiday, Watson. Just forget about it. _Said a small voice in his head.

_You could just go take a peek. If it's not her, you'll have barely wasted a second. _Said a much louder voice, one that sounded suspiciously like Sherlock.

John sighed heavily.

"Damn it."

Jogging back to the start of a the street, he flagged down a taxi.

"Can you get me to-" He looked back at the sign. "-West 34th and 5th?"

* * *

**_You're going to the Statue of Liberty soon, aren't you? Don't bother, it's too much stimulus for an ordinary infant like yours. -SH_**

John ignored his phone buzzing as he got out of the taxi. He could tell which building was hosting the fashion show. A large sleek tower, all strange angles and black glass, lit up with blue lights at the corner of the block.

John glanced past the stream of pedestrians to see a large, intimidating looking bouncer stationed at the front entrance, checking tickets to the event. He'd have to go around the back.

He ducked into the alley and walked along the edge of the building until he came to a back door. There was an irritated looking woman with coke-bottle glasses and a clipboard standing next to it.

"This area's closed." She said, without looking up.

"I figured." John said, trying to smile. "I just wondered if there's someone I know in there."

The woman sighed heavily, still not looking up.

"If you want an autograph from one of the girls, you have to wait until after the show."

"Oh, I'm not-I just need to know if you've got a model under the name of Ginny Smith? Maybe Ginny Holmes?"

"I'm sorry. That information is classified." The woman said flatly.

John raised an eyebrow, becoming annoyed.

"Look, I'm not, y'know, stalking anyone. I just need to know if she's in there."

"And I told you," The woman said, her voice rising as she looked up. "That information is classified!"

"Ella? What's going on out here?"

Both John and the woman whipped around, to see a thin black man open the door. Behind him was a thin hallway full of beautiful, tall women running in and out of rooms.

Ella pointed, tight-lipped, at John.

"He's stalking one of the girls!" She said. John sighed and started digging through his jacket.

"I'm not!" He pulled out his wallet and flashed his ID. "My name is John Watson, I'm only a bloke on holiday! Just, please, tell me if you've got someone named Ginny in there!" Without meaning to, the last sentence came out as a shout.

Several models turned around at the noise. A few seconds later, there was the sound of feet whacking down the hall.

"Jarrod? What's going on out here?"

"Nothing, just some British guy looking for a Ginny." Jarrod said to the unseen voice, not taking his suspicious glare off John. "We're taking care of it, Charlotte. Go back inside."

"As if."

A dark-haired young woman poked her head out under Jarrod's arm and looked at John. She was barefoot and wore a knee-length robe. Her silver eyes met his, and he felt as though an electric shock buzzed through his whole body. He struggled to maintain his composure as he looked her in the eye.

Ginny, however, lit up.

"Oh Uncle John! I forgot you were in town!"

John blinked, confused. Ginny continued on, very cheerfully.

"You want my help finding Aunt Ginny's apartment, right?" There was something wrong with her voice. John realized she was speaking in an American accent.

"Um-"

"My dad's brother. Gets hopelessly lost when he comes to visit us in America." She told Ella and Jarrod. She turned back to John, smiling.

"I'll draw you a map if you'll come to my dressing room."

"Uh, sure." John said. Ginny leaned out the door and gripped his arm. Yanking him past Jarrod and into the hallway, she leaned over so there was less than an inch between them.

"Get in. Now." She growled in his ear. John barely had time to react before she pulled him through a second door and slammed it shut behind them.

John got his bearings enough to take in his surroundings. He was in some sort of dressing room, with a long black couch and a rack of clothes pushed against the wall. The side farthest from him had a vanity mirror set in it, with a stool in front.

Ginny released him and stepped into the center the room.

"What the hell are you doing here?" She asked, in her normal voice.

John rubbed his neck, which she'd had a very tight hold on, and took a few seconds to breathe. For Ginny, this was apparently far too long, and she threw up her hands and flounced over to her mirror, sitting down in front of it with a huff.

She'd grown since John had last seen her. She was taller than he was now, but twice as thin. Her jet black curls reached the waist of the black silk robe she was wearing. The baby fat was gone from her face, replaced with high, guant cheekbones, but it was still, unmistakably, Ginny.

"I'm with my family, I'm on holiday. And I could ask you the same question." John said finally.

"And when you say _here_, do you mean, not buried in some ditch in Essex?" Ginny asked sarcastically. She reached for a white sponge on her table and started dabbing her make-up off.

"I don't even think Holmes' are capable of dying." John said shortly, as though he hadn't been tormenting himself with _what ifs_ the whole cab ride over.

"Well, that man Moriarty thought I was. I had to hide."

John raised an eyebrow.

"Getting your face plastered to billboards in the biggest city on earth is not how you 'hide'."

"This isn't my real job!" Ginny said, gathering her hair into a bun. "I'm working on a case."

"A case."

"Yes."

"Ginny, what the hell is going on?"

"That's another thing. My name isn't Ginny here. Call me Charlotte Middleton."

John sighed and rubbed his temples.

"OK, 'Charlotte'. What is this? Have you been running some kind of undercover operation here?"

"Here as in New York? Yes, various ones-for about four years. I've been at _this_ moronic dress-up game for a month and a half."

John raised his eyebrows, mildly surprised.

"More than a month? That's an awful long time for someone like you to be on one case, love."

Ginny glared and took off her robe, pulling on one of the red, glittery dresses from the rack.

"Haven't we discussed my loathing of your pet names, John?" She said wearily. John felt his face heat up in spite of himself.

"Sorry."

Ginny picked a pair of strappy heels off the couch and yanked them on, hopping towards John as she did so.

"Zip me up." She commanded, twisting around.

John complied.

"But Moriarty is dead." He told the back of her head. "He's been dead for years, don't you-you _must _know that."

"I do." Ginny said tersely.

"Then why didn't you call? Or text? Or find some way to let Sher-"

Ginny jumped and wheeled around, eyes narrowing.

"John, you need to leave."

"What?"

"You shouldn't have come here, you might draw attention to me. That could blow the whole case."

"What _is _this case? Can't I talk to you? Help with anything?"

Twisting her arms behind her back, Ginny finished closing her dress and looked at him. Her eyes contained something that was almost sympathy.

"What you can do is leave. John, you're from my old life. And that life can't exist anymore, not one bit of it can, for my safety and for the safety of...others." Tilting her chin up defiantly, she strode past him towards the door. John could hear other models running and shouting.

"But-"

Ginny's shoulders tensed at his protest. She sighed and looked back at him.

"Look, as far as anyone is concerned, Ginny Smith has been dead for five years. She drowned in the Thames River when she was fourteen. And it needs to stay that way."

She twisted the doorknob and the sound outside amplified as she opened the door, back into the tight little hallway that lead to the runway. Her face went blank as she stepped out.

"Go back to your family John." She said.

And she was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

"Where were you?" Molly asked as John came through the door of their hotel room twenty minutes later. "And where's the food?"

John looked at her blankly, still a little stunned.

"Um," he swallowed. "I-I couldn't find it. I got lost."

Molly looked at him, annoyed.

"I'm sorry." He said meekly.

Molly sighed, brushing loose strands of hair from her face.

"Well, I'm glad you found your way back. Martha should be up from her nap soon, we can all go out together."

"Yeah. That sounds great. Cheers." John said distractedly. Molly frowned, leaning towards him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing! Nothing, I just..." He faded off.

He loved Molly, and normally he would tell her everything that happened. But Ginny...everything about Ginny was foreign, and her return felt, if not an outright secret, certainly not his story to tell. He closed his eyes briefly.

"I'm just tired."

Molly ran her hands down her stomach, smoothing out her cherry-printed shirt. She gave him an odd, almost sad, little smile.

"Of course, love. I'll go get Martha."

She pecked him on the lips and walked away toward the mobile cot. John watched go, her long, auburn hair swinging behind her, and felt guilt creep up in his stomach, for the terrible pain he was sure he'd inevitably cause her.

* * *

The café was dainty and lovely, with white linen table clothes and big bay windows to sit behind. Martha fell asleep once more, her tiny chest rising and falling peacefully as her parents watched the world go by. John was starving, sinking his teeth into a sandwich as he listened to Molly talk about what else she wanted to see while in New York. It was nice. Even though he'd lived a slower life since Martha was born, truly peaceful moments like this were still few and far between.

Still, he felt something nagging at him, like eyes on the back of his head. He tried to put Ginny from his mind. His phone buzzed.

_We're out of ethanol. -SH_

John let out a short huff of annoyance and shoved his phone into Martha's carriage without answering.

"Was that Sherlock?" Molly asked. John nodded, rolling his eyes. The feeling he was being watched was intensifying.

"He hasn't stopped since we got off the plane."

Molly smirked. The hairs on the back of John's neck were standing up.

"I think he's just lonel-"

John stood up suddenly, sending the table a clatter, his cup of tea sliding across the cloth. Molly caught it with a yelp as some of the hot liquid splashed on her arm.

"John! What's wrong?"

Twisting his head around and peering through the café window, John saw a slip of a girl leaning against a bus post, a black coat pulled over her shoulders. She caught John's eye for a split second, then promptly turned on her heels and bolted down the street.

"Unbelievable." John muttered. He didn't realize he had left the table until his feet hit the pavement outside.

"John!" Molly called through the glass.

"Ginny!" John yelled. "Ginny, get back here!"

The girl turned down an alley way. John tore after her, turning into the alley as she jumped in the air, catching onto the bottom rung of the nearby fire escape. John was a short man, but nevertheless strong. Lunging after her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back down to the ground.

"Get off!" Ginny yelped. "I swear to God I will yell "assault"!"

"Ginny, you can't follow me about and then run. What is going on?"

Ginny kicked him in the shins. John held fast.

"I was making sure you didn't come back to see me." She growled. "And why won't you just mind your own business?"

"You're really going to lecture me about not poking your head in where you don't belong?" John muttered. Ginny let out a barking, humorless laugh, swinging her arms wildly. John struggled to restrain her.

"You're still strong, Captain Watson." She spat. John rolled his eyes.

"Please, come have lunch with me."

Ginny twisted her neck around to face him.

"Excuse me?"

"Come sit still for five _bloody _minutes and tell me what the hell is going on with you. If I can't help, you can just leave, easy as pie." John said, a begging note not evident in his voice yet, but very, very close.

Ginny didn't stop struggling, but she did tilt her head to the side, thinking.

"Do I have to talk to the child?" She asked sullenly.

John's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"What?"

"Your kid. I can see the bags under your eyes from it waking you up in the night, meaning it's young. Also, the crumbs on your lapel. They're covered in artificial food coloring. Bright colors; those are kids cookies, not food for yourself. You clearly brought it out to eat with you so answer my question-do I have to talk to your child?"

John's grip slackened out of sheer shock. Ginny extracted herself from his grip and brushed herself off. She was still wearing runway make-up and a high glittery ponytail, with jeans and a black windbreaker. Tinfoil was balled up in her right hand; She was halfway through eating a taco. She faced John, crossing her free arm as she did so.

"I'm never going to get used to that." John mumbled.

"Clearly." Ginny snapped back. "Answer my question."

"What? No, she's little. She can barely talk, you don't have to...make conversation with her."

"And if I tell you about the case I'm working on, you'll forget you ever saw me?"

John sighed heavily. She looked at him sharply.

"John?"

He held his hands up in defeat. "Ginny who?"

She paused, then yanked her coat tighter around her torso. It looked like she was trying to fold in on herself and blink out of existence.

"Get rid of the family." She mumbled. "And I'll meet you there."

* * *

"John, what's happening?"

"I promise I'll tell you soon. Just please take Martha to the park for half an hour. Please." John said, gripping Molly's hand just a little too hard. She had rolled Martha out onto the street in front of the Café and looked like she was going to start after him. She drew her face in close to her husband's.

"John, you're not in any trouble, are you?" Her wide brown eyes were full of fear. John felt his stomach sinking, weighed down by the sheer amount of guilt flowing through his body.

"No! No, I just...Molly, I'm so sorry. I swear, I'll find you. I just need to sort something out." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, composing himself. "Please just go."

Molly set her mouth in a thin line and jerkily strapped Martha into her stroller. She threw him an icy glare as she stomped out of the café.

"Sometimes I cannot believe you, John Watson." In the scariest voice John had ever heard come out of her mouth.

"Molly-"

But she was gone.

John let out a groan of frustration and kicked the side of the building. He stomped back in into dropped in front of the table, burying his face in his hands.

"You can come out now, you brat." He mumbled.

Ginny slid smoothly into the seat across from him, practically materializing out of a corner of the room. Ignoring John's current martial problems, She pulled a red Manila folder from her jacket and slapped it on the table.

"It starts with Claire Newton."

* * *

**{A/N: A certain familiar face is joining us in the next chapter! Stay tuned.}**


End file.
